


Revenge is Honey Sweet

by Cajuzinhoinho



Series: BrArg Week 2020 [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternative Universe - Human, M/M, Swordfights, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lot of swearing, bad historical setting, hopefully, no research, set on the brazilian empire, the graphic violence warning is just in case but there really isnt much of it, too much talking too little fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cajuzinhoinho/pseuds/Cajuzinhoinho
Summary: Martín would get his revenge, even if for that he had to follow Luciano to the end of the world.
Relationships: Argentina/Brazil (Hetalia)
Series: BrArg Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025860
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	Revenge is Honey Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fun one! I love the whole pirates aesthetic and also I love any opportunity to write something vaguely set during the brazilian empire. I think it’s my favorite one out of all my BrArg Week fics, and I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> This is a human au set at some point in the late 1840s/early 1850s  
> Porto de São Pedro is a fictitious town in southern Brazil. Thanks to Maju for comming up with the name  
> Iratambé is also a fictitious location. It seems to be a synonym for Iracema (honey lips) so I thought it would be neat to use it. I noticed it was pretty common during the empire for people with noble titles to just be called whatever location they were the baron/count/marquis/etc of, and i think that's kinda cool.  
> Garcia Sampaio is a generic name for a fictitious rich family of Porto de São Pedro. 
> 
> As always, nothing happens without @ottomanliest’s help with proofreading and with suggesting insults in English to be used here lol swearing in english is hard and boring you guys.

“Have you heard? The Marquis de Iratembé is in town…”

“I heard he came to pursue a possible suitor” 

The full moon was high in the sky, but the small, dirty bar was dark with the exception of a few lanterns. It smelled like alcohol, mold and the horseshit people brought stuck in their shoes. 

Martín was seated in the corner, alone with his drink, with his legs crossed over the table. There was a group of women of whom at least some were clearly whores chatting a few meters away. The moment he heard the name of the marquis, anger muted all other noise in the room and he concentrated fully on what they were saying. 

“I think it’s a military trip. He sailed in with the entire crew on his ship, it can’t be for such personal matters” 

“Well, maybe Don Luciano just likes to flaunt.” 

“Being a Lieutenant Captain at such a young age, he doesn’t need to.”

“I heard he’s being promoted to Captain of Sea and War.” 

“Now that is just absurd!” 

Some of them giggled. 

“Not when you have royal blood such as his. I heard he’s a personal friend of the emperor.”

“I heard he’s the other Emperor’s bastard, that’s why they’re so close, that’s why his Majesty made him a _Don_.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, he’s too young for that.”

“I think it is. I heard…” one teased, with a long smile cutting through her cheeks “He’s a spectacular lover.” 

“Silly! When has an officer ever been good in bed?”

“You have to admit there’s something about the uniform though…”

“And he’s so young! He’s not some aging, decadent general who can’t even get it up.”

“Well, I don’t like fucking military men, they’re all the same.” 

“The Marquis wouldn’t fuck _you_ anyway. He’s too busy with well-born and pretty women. He’s probably in a ballroom somewhere dancing with all the ladies and not a single one of them would complain about the attention of a man who might be a Captain of Sea and War by the time he’s 30.”

“I heard the Garcia Sampaio are throwing a ball tonight for their daughter’s birthday, he must be there.”

“Oh, he surely was invited. What a match that would be!”

“Really makes you think…” 

Martín got up and stopped listening. The ball at the Garcia Sampaio’s manor. He knew the way, everybody knew where that was. He had known for weeks that Lieutenant Captain da Silva would eventually arrive in Porto de São Pedro, and he was not willing to let this perfect opportunity for revenge slip by.

He didn’t like men like Iratembé. Rich, young, and bearing a title he didn't earn from the monarch of an empire that shouldn’t exist. There were plenty like him in that shithole of a country Martín had to endure being stuck in, but with Don Luciano, it was personal.

Martín would much rather be at the sea, talking obscenities and drinking with the crew, instead of on its way to a stuffy ball full of “your grace”s and “your excellency”s and falsities. He was worth dozens of marquises and hundreds of counts and thousands of barons, he was just as good as any of them. If he bought a fancy coat and arrived in an ornated chariot and said he was Count of Whatever The Fuck, they would fall right into it, because he was just as good as them. And there was no reason why they got to spend their nights in shiny ballrooms with music and dance while Martín had to sulk in the corners of bars with filthy street rats and whores that only had the unfortunate luck of being born in the gutter in common with him. 

He’d rather be in the sea, on his ship, with men as unlucky as him but just as willing to fight back and take anything they could get their dirty hands on from these bloodsucking nobles. They were pirates, they stole from the rich to give to themselves and had the time of their lives laughing in the face of the law when they once again managed to escape at the last second.

Except that the last time, they didn’t. 

Martín remembered Don Luciano's face from high in his battleship when he gave the order to launch the first cannonballs that went through the hull of the corvette, right in the middle and beyond repair, then a rain of dozens more snapped her in two. As she started to sink, the Brazilian sailors shot the crewmembers that hadn’t yet drowned from the safety of their frigate. Their captain was hit by another cannonball and his head went flying through the air before sinking like a heavy rock. Martín tried to hold onto the mast with one hand and shoot with the other, willing to die but unwilling to do so without taking some of the Brazilians with him. It was a bullet from Don Luciano’s rifle that knocked his gun from his hand straight to the sea, with a piece of flesh from his palm with it. He tried to regain his balance in the middle of the adrenaline and the rush of burning pain, but he slipped from the mast and fell to meet his fate with his lungs full of water.

He managed to grab a clapboard floating and hold his breath underwater long enough to swim to the bottom of the ship and hide on a blindspot above water. He stayed there, crying silently from pain and loss until they docked in a port in Rio Grande do Sul the next day. The saltwater kept his hand from infecting so the physician he found there managed to save it, but it left a horrendous scar that he would carry forever and a lust for revenge that fueled his every step. 

They quickly took Martín to the front of the Garcia Sampaio’s colonial-style manor. It was all lit up and the music could be heard from the streets, from which he could also see some of the notable men and women from Porto de São Pedro talk and drink. He snuck in from the back, tiptoeing through the dark until he found the balcony from the first floor, from which he could climb since it was empty. He then managed to reach the second, holding himself on any protuberant stone he could find, so that he could take a peek inside. Everything looked white and golden there, lively and posh. If not for the rags he wore, he was sure he could have just walked in like he belonged there and no one would have questioned him. But he soon forgot the idea when he spotted Don Luciano in the crowd, blurring everything else in his vision. 

He stood out but didn’t look out of place at all. He was surrounded by people, talking with big gestures as everyone listened attentively and smiling. The women especially had their eyes on him. He was in full naval uniform, dark blue and crowned with golden medals and strings that glistened like diamonds in the room. His dark hair and skin had a healthy shine to them too. He was close enough that Martín could see his teeth white like ivory shown by that big, confident smile. Though he couldn’t hear Luciano, he could see he was speaking clearly, calmly, fascinating people with his smart remarks and saying all the right things Martín would’ve said too if he had been the Emperor’s rumored bastard. Everything about the Marquis fit the script: a dashing navy captain without a trouble in the world, who would marry a rich lady the minute he decided to and would sleep peacefully at night regardless of if Martín was mourning the loss of his comrades or had been eaten by a shark. 

Anger ran thick in his veins, he reached for his gun to end it right then and there. It would be a pleasure to ruin the night of all these hypocrites and leave some traumatized forever with the spectacle of pieces of the Marquis de Iratembé’s brain scattered around the white floor. 

But right when he was about to do it, a tall woman got in front of him and ruined his shot. He waited a while longer, but then Don Luciano was saying his goodbyes to the group he was talking to, and soon was out of reach. Martín followed him with his stare as he talked to a few more people, then went down the stairs and left the manor. Then Martín followed in his steps. The Marquis walked alone down a few streets, turned down a few alleys, and walked into a bar. 

It was nothing like the one Martín had been not an hour before, but one of the fanciest in town, with cushioned chairs and refined drinks brought in from Europe. There was no way he could spy him from the outside though, so Martín did his best to straighten his clothes before he walked in. ‘

Iratembé was seated on the counter, with his uniform coat off, waiting for his drink with a small, unintentional smile on his face. Martín couldn't shoot him there without being arrested on the spot, though a part of him insisted it would be worth it. He sat a distance away, in a different corner, hoping no one would bother asking him if he’d like to order a drink he couldn’t afford. He had more important things to worry about than escaping from a bar for an unpaid bill. He had to stay there until Luciano left, then follow him a while longer and avenge his crewmates and hand. 

He could see it all in his head until suddenly he realized he had been staring, so now the Marquis was looking straight at him. 

And smiling. 

Oh. Change of plans then. He didn’t have to wait at all, Don Luciano would willingly follow him if he played the cards right. He smiled back. 

With that, the Marquis took his drink and walked to Martín’s table, with that same ease he had at the ball.

“What’s your name?” he asked after he was seated, with his back leaned against the chair. 

“Martín.” he forced himself to keep smiling and to look completely content with having the Marquis de Iratembé right in front of him. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

Martín swallowed.

“Should I?” 

Don Luciano, Lieutenant Captain da Silva, the Marquis of Iratembé, looked pleased. 

“Where are you from, Martín?” 

“Buenos Aires.” 

“Ah.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’ve been there once. Do you speak Portuguese?” 

Martín understood it and could communicate, but he didn't speak it, so he denied it with his head. Luciano easily switched to Spanish. 

“What are you doing around Porto de São Pedro, then?”

He was asking too much, but his tone wasn’t accusatory or even interested, he was just trying to make conversation. His smile was friendly and simple, the kind that could make anyone trust him immediately just from how effortlessly warm it was.

“Does it matter?” Martín leaned over the table on his elbows, with a sigh and an inviting little smile. 

“I’d like to know, maybe another time. What happened to your hand?” 

Martín froze but kept his expression from showing it. 

“War.” he lied.

“You were in a war?” 

“I was. You?” 

“No. Rebellions, yes, but I was too young for the wars.” He chuckled, running his fingers through his messy black curls. 

Martín was too. They probably were the same age. Maybe he had picked his excuse poorly, but it was too late. At least Luciano didn’t seem to question it. Because of course, he hadn't remembered that in one of the countless days in which he destroyed an entire pirate ship and everyone in it, he shot a man in the hand. Later that same day he likely had forgotten about it completely.

“And what do you like to do, Martín?”

That was his chance. Martín swallowed, then put on the best flirtatious face he could manage, took Luciano's glass in his hand, emptied it in one go, set it loudly back into the table with a satisfied _ah!_ and smiled. 

“The same as you.” 

And he ran the back of his foot up Luciano’s leg under the table, then up his thigh. 

Luciano was wide-eyed but clearly turned on by Martín’s insolence. 

“Do you know a place?” he whispered.

“There’s always an inn with a vacant room not too far away, isn’t there?” he ran the tip of his fingers over Luciano’s hand so softly no one else could notice but pressed his toe on the inside of his thigh.

Luciano hesitated for a second, then agreed. 

“Show me the way.”

He paid for his drink and they left. He had his naval coat folded so that all the golden ornaments and medals were hidden from Martín and everyone else. They were lucky to find an empty room in the first inn they found. Luciano paid without thinking, then followed Martín into the small room that was theirs for the night. 

He locked the door and walked to him, his eyes so heavy on him that they made Martín step back until his back was against the wall. Luciano smiled before kissing him, without a word, as if he had done it a thousand times. Martín kissed back. He opened his mouth and allowed Luciano to explore it with no resistance, but kept both his hands on the wall. 

Luciano was a good kisser, enough for Martín to indulge in it for a while. He smelled clean and didn't seem to mind that Martín didn't, his hands were firm on his waist, pushing their bodies together, blurring everything for a moment in that warmth. Martín wondered how bad for his honor it would be to let Luciano continue and leave his revenge for when they were breathless and limp on the mattress. It’s not like the crew would take posthumous offense, so maybe he could have that as long as he killed Luciano after anyway.

The idea got more and more tempting as Luciano pushed Martín’s coat down his shoulders and buried his face in his neck, covering it with sloppy open-mouth kisses and small bites, sucking a little harder only where it met his shoulder and could be hidden by the shirt. Martín closed his eyes, reminding himself of that day at sea even as Luciano’s thigh pressed against him. Right now he seemed nothing like the man Martín saw smiling as he commanded that Martín’s life was to be shred into a million pieces, but he was, and that was not something one could simply forget. So Martín reached for his dagger on his belt and sent it to Luciano’s stomach in one quick motion. 

Luciano heard it. He held Martín’s wrist before it could reach its target and only then understood what was going on. The dagger fell to the ground with a high pitched sound. He twisted Martín's arm and turned him to press his face hard against the rough brick wall.

“Who are you?!” he shouted, pulling Martín’s head back then pushing it once more to the wall. 

Martín gritted his teeth, trying to squirm out of his grip. He managed a heel kick on Luciano’s leg a little lower than what he aimed for, but that took him off his balance just enough for Martín to be able to move his arm and bashed him in the chest with his elbow. He set himself free and ran to the side to gain distance. He took his sword from his belt and Luciano did the same. 

They clashed hard, then once more. Luciano pushed his sword to hit Martín from the side. Martín blocked it and launched a counterattack. He was aiming for the head, but Luciano was faster.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Luciano repeated. His sword was too firm in the air to allow Martín to finish the blow.

“I wouldn't expect the Marquis de Iratembé to remember me,” Martín smirked and launched his sword forward. 

“I really don’t” Luciano smirked back unpleasantly. 

Martín took a step back but did not lower his sword.

“Last year you shot me in the hand and destroyed my ship. Killed my captain and all my crewmates. You’re a coward.”

“Oh, a pirate.” Luciano snickered. “I see it now. Sorry, but I don’t memorize the face of every stinking rat I fail to kill” 

“That failure was your worst mistake. I’ll buy a new ship and form my own crew after your death.”

He threw a new attack, with all the force needed to make a point. Luciano blocked everything, his years of training clear in his effective but uncreative moves. Martín quickly got the upper hand and forced Luciano to a defensive position he couldn't get out of. Then, he mustered all he got to a final blow. It didn't land how he wished, but it hit Luciano’s sword so hard it felt in the ground far out of reach.

Martín smiled, ready to finish it easily now that Luciano was unarmed. He raised his sword high in the air, but before he saw it Luciano had a hand in the floor and his foot slammed on Martín’s chin. He fell on the ground and hit his head hard, the whole room was spinning. 

The next second, Luciano had trapped him on the floor with his legs on Martín’s arms, and with Martín’s sword in his hand, he pointed it to his neck. 

Martín closed his eyes, but nothing came. 

“Such a pretty face.” Luciano teased, keeping the sword in place but seeming completely uninterested in burying it in Martín’s throat. “You’d make much more money as a prostitute than as a pirate, and you’d have more honor.”

“What do you know about honor?” Martín barked. “You didn’t even have the balls to come down to have a real fight with us, not stay safe on the top of an armored ship like the craven bastard you are. Go on, kill me. Kill me, you son of a bitch! Or I swear, I’ll make every next second of your life hell.”

Luciano was smiling. If anything, he looked entertained.

“I’d like to see you try, you piece of shit.”

Martín spat on his face. 

Luciano raised his arm to wipe it, and in that opening Martín managed to push one of his legs and roll out. Freed once again, he took Luciano’s sword from the ground just in time to defend against a rushed attack coming from his left. 

“You’ll see.” 

Martín went back to his series of attacks. Luciano was good at his defense and could keep up, but Martín needed just one mistake to finish his job. 

“People like you disgust me.” Martín continued. “You’ll never know what it feels to have nothing and have to crawl out of the gutter with only your own nails. You’ve always had everything, so you should learn what it feels to lose everything!” 

Luciano blocked his attack once again, then stepped back with a grin on his face.

“You clearly know nothing about me.” Luciano snickered. “Such strong words coming from a little piece of shit of a pirate who survives by stealing like some cockroach.”

Martín let out a muffled laugh.

“It might sound crazy to a rich prick like you, but I liked being a pirate. Just a bunch of dirty men on a ship, we fuck who we want and don’t have to hide it. There was even this guy, everyone knew about us. Shame that you killed him. I wouldn't call him a lover, but he had an enormous dick, and I loved it.”

Luciano was glaring at him at every word. Martín smiled, and he continued smiling even as he struggled to defend a blow on his side.

“You say that, but the truth is that you’re an envious little cunt.” Luciano swore between his teeth. “You were out there fighting for scraps as you lusted after real power you’ll never have.” 

Martín swung his sword to Luciano's neck. Luciano dodged it but did not attack back.

“I see how you walk.” Luciano continued. “Your head held high, a straight back, this certainty that you should, deep down, belong to the cream of society, this deafening anger of someone who thinks he’s supposed to be much more powerful than he’ll ever dream to be. You can fuck who you want, but the best thing you might ever be is some semi-expensive whore.”

Martín took his pistol from his belt and shot.

He missed it.

Luciano seized the moment, and in a second Martín was back against the wall, both arms immobilized. He tried to find the trigger again, but without moving his hand or seeing what he was doing the bullet flew straight to the opposite wall. Luciano kicked it from his hand with his heel and shoved him against the bricks once more.

He tied Martín up. First poorly, with his own shirt, but before Martín could wriggle out of it, he yanked the bedsheets out and used them to finish the job. Martín struggled and jerked to get in the way of the process, to make it as difficult for him as he could, but he failed to stop Luciano or even annoy him. He seemed to be in a good mood for someone who had almost been killed, and he no longer seemed angry with Martín. On the contrary, he looked somewhat amused. 

Once Martín’s hands were tied, he cut a piece of the excess fabric with his sword and tied his feet, and with another, he tied his fists to the top of the window so that Martín was hanging centimeters above the ground. 

Luciano was shorter so he had to stand on the tip of his toes and raise his arms to do it, while also standing really close. Martín could feel his breath on his face, their noses almost touching.

“I’m sure you’re loving seeing me tied up,” he whispered without really thinking.

“Oh, immensely,” Luciano whispered back, running one finger down Martín’s chest, and maybe he shouldn't be wearing such a revealing shirt because it made him blush despite the anger. 

“Kill me.”

“Someone should find you here in the morning, maybe even in minutes since they might have heard the shots.” he patted Martín's face and smiled.

He turned around and walked to the door, but stopped when Martín announced:

“I meant it. If you don't kill me, I’ll be your worst nightmare. I’ll hunt you down everywhere you go. I’ll have my revenge. I’ll fight you to the end of the world and you will not know a moment’s peace until one of us kills the other, and mark my words, Luciano, my pretty face is the last thing you are going to see in this lifetime.” 

Luciano turned his head back, and he was smiling. He looked almost fond.

“I’m counting on it.”

And left.

**Author's Note:**

> I would really really really appreciate comments on this one, but anyway I hope you all had fun with it ♥


End file.
